


To Hell and Back

by poshboyfriends (louisgoddamntomlinson)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, a little greek mythology, and the tags?, harry's dead for a lot of it but he comes back dont worry, i really went wild with this prompt, rubbish rubbish rubbish, what is this title too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:28:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisgoddamntomlinson/pseuds/poshboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the prompt:</p><p>this is an au based off of the story of orpheus and eurydice, the one with the musical lute player who loses his lover and plays his way through the underworld to bring her back. (well, orpheus loses her in the end and is brutally murdered, but we don't have to mention that.) now, ofc that doesn't have to be exactly as it goes, but honestly i just want a louis and harry version of it. it may be in the present or in ancient times. whether louis is orpheus or harry is orpheus is your choice :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hell and Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nativeziam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nativeziam/gifts), [ofcourseidont](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofcourseidont/gifts).



Louis’ hands are shaking.

Normally there’d be Harry’s hands overtop his by now, calming the nervous tremors. But Harry’s not here anymore. Harry’s gone.

It had been a drunk driver running a red light. Harry had been walking on the sidewalk, talking to his sister about Christmas, and planning on coming up to see the baby in a few days, should they have time. The driver careened out of control after hitting a patch of ice, crashing into Harry and pinning him to a streetlight. The driver had died upon impact, while Harry spent a grueling 36 hours in the hospital fighting against his body’s inevitable march towards death.

But none of that mattered now. Harry’s in a box in the ground and he’ll never hold Louis’ hand again.

It’s been a dismal few days. The preparation for the funeral, comforting people: the heartbroken family and friends that all got left behind, then coming home to an empty house and a cold bed.

It’s all gone a bit shit without Harry there. Louis never learned how to cook anything other than chicken wrapped in Parma ham (with a side of mashed potatoes of course), and hardly knows how to clean up. He doesn’t want to either.

His hands are shaking now, anyways, as he fastens the buttons on a too-big jacket and stands, staring down at the snowed over grave. It’s not yet been long enough for an actual grave, so there’s a placeholder instead. Louis stares down at it, scuffing his boots over the snow at the base of it.

“Hey H,” he says, voice raspy from disuse. “I wasn’t supposed to be here, y’know. Our mums said I should give it a few weeks, let myself acclimate to the loss or whatever.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “Rubbish, innit? How the hell am I suppose to ‘acclimate’ to anything without you.” Snow tickles the bare nape of his neck.

“It’s my birthday today.” Louis says. He can feel his throat closing up with tears, but no, no he wont cry. Not now. “I’m 26, H. You promised you’d pop out of a cake this year, remember? With tassels on your nipples. But only if I stopped bitching about getting older.” He’s laughing now, but it’s hollow. A tear traces down the curve of his nose. Fuck.

“But you’ve gone and broke that promise, now haven’t you?” Louis’ voice shakes, “You’re supposed to be here Harry. I miss you and it’s barely been a week. I can’t fuckin’ do anything because you’re not here.” He sighs, shaking his head, “I almost called you today, y’know? It just felt like you were in the studio again. Like you’d be home any minute and push your cold toes at me under the covers.” Tears are falling freely now, and the cold wind makes them sting bitterly against Louis’ skin.

“We were supposed to get married and have twenty children and fourteen cats and be the power couple of the fucking world.” Louis twists the engagement ring on his finger harshly, relishing in the cool bite of metal on his half-numb fingers. He should have worn gloves. Harry would have made him wear gloves.

“Fuck you.” He spits, “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you Harry Styles.” Louis crumbles to his knees, choked sobs letting out into his hands. It hurts to think hatefully of Harry. He can’t hate Harry, couldn’t if he tried.

“God, I don’t mean it. I don’t mean it Harry, I don’t.” His heart hurts.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I will always love you.” Louis kisses his frosty fingers and presses them against the placeholder. “You’re always in my heart, remember?” 

He stares at the spot for a minute longer. When nothing happens, Louis rises to his feet and brushes off the snow on his knees. Snow crunches underneath his feet as he walks away, and his thoughts go once again to Harry (did they ever leave?).

Harry had always loved summer. Especially when they’d been on tour and he could spend it lounging in his atrocious yellow trunks on some boat in Australia. He loved the smoothies and cocktails and summer time foods.

He’d called Louis his summer, once. When they’d been tipsy to the point of silliness on wine. 

“You’re my summer, y’know?” he’d slurred.

“What are you even on about now, H?” Louis’d laughed.

“You! You’re all bright and warm and fun and you make me want to live forever,” Harry smiles, smacking a kiss onto Louis’ cheek. Louis was too busy focusing on not letting a smile break his face in half to come up with any sort of clever response.

Now, as Louis throws himself into his car, Louis tries to keep his heart from breaking.

“How was it?” Zayn asks. Louis scrubs a hand over his face, sighing.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Louis admits dejectedly. Zayn doesn’t have an answer for that, it seems. They drive in silence, Louis fading in and out of awareness until he sees his exit fly by.

“You missed my exit?” he turns it into a question, like Harry used to. Shut up, he tells himself.

“You’re staying at ours tonight.” Zayn states, eyes flickering to his for a brief moment.

There’s a lot Louis could say to that. In any other circumstance, he’d argue until he was blue in the face; but he knows that Zayn will drag him home like a stray regardless.

Once they’ve arrived, Zayn bundled Louis more securely in his coat before making the 4-step journey to his door.

It’s warm and homey in the Ziam household, just like it’s always been. Loki jogs to greet them, tail wagging frantically as he sniffs along Louis’ trousers. Louis gives him a distracted pet before taking in the photos that hang on the wall.

They’re mostly the five of them, with a few solely of Zayn and Liam. There are usually one or two extra people around them, but it’s always the same five boys.

It’s weird to see how lively Harry is, even in photos. His face has always been incredibly expressive. In the line of his brow, the gleam in his eyes, and the pout of his lips.

Was, Louis thinks bitterly, Harry was lively. Harry’s all in past tense now. The thought makes Louis’ stomach churn.

Liam’s head pops around the corner, his face soft and gentle as ever. He extends his arms out to Louis, who steps into the hug gratefully.

“Hey Lou,” he says, chin resting on Louis’ head. “How you holdin’ up?”

“How d’you think?” Louis replies, huffing a hollow laugh. Liam just gives him a sad smile, taking his coat before it can be abandoned on the floor.

“D’you want wine? I’m making chicken,” Liam says, and Zayn laughs.

“You mean I made chicken and you just made sure the house didn’t burn down while it roasted.” Zayn teases.

“I’m perfectly capable of making chicken!” Liam retorts.

“Sure babes,” Zayn chuckles, wrapping an arm around his waist.

It’s so similar to the conversations he used to have with Harry, that Louis feels something twist painfully in his chest. 

Zayn must notice something on his face, as he asks again, “So...wine?”

Louis gives a tight-lipped smile and a nod. “Sure, Z.” Zayn detaches from Liam to give Louis a one-armed squeeze.

“Niall’s coming over in a bit,” he says, “ It’ll be a right laugh, yeah?” He drags Louis with him to the kitchen.

“Is he bringing his mystery girl? Jamie? Jade?” Louis asks, leaning against the counter.

“Jenna. And no, not tonight. She’s got some art school thing.” Liam says, starting to clean up.

“I always thought he’d go for someone artsy.” Louis mused.

“I always thought Niall’d end up with some celebrity, to be honest.” Zayn confesses. “But I doubt anyone could keep pace with him.”

“Nah, his one true love will always be ‘Guiness and guitars’,” Liam says in a rather good impersonation of Niall. “He said so right after the drama with Ellie and Ed, remember?”

“Oi! Ed got over that right quick once we had a chat,” Niall interjected, entering the kitchen with a bottle of wine clenched in each hand. His hat and coat were faintly dusted with snow.

“Did you just let yourself in?” Liam asks, clearly amused.

“Y’left the door unlocked.” Niall shrugged, “I’m an impatient man.”

“That you are, Nialler, that you are,” Louis said, grabbing the wine and setting it aside before hugging him.

“How y’doin’ mate?” Niall asks, drawing back enough to accept a glass of wine from Liam, who also passes one to Louis.

Louis laughs, “I’ll be fine, Niall.” Niall looks at him with a scathing look, surprising Louis. He was pretty sure Niall didn’t have the ability to give anything but bright beaming smiles.

“Sure you are,” Niall says, rolling his eyes. Louis laughs.

“Alright, alright.” Louis throws his hands up, “I’m not. But I will be, yeah?” He smiles, trying to convince Niall and, by extension, himself. 

The truth is, Louis isn’t sure if he’ll ever be okay again. When you’ve lived such a monumental part of your life with someone, become so close and connected that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, it’s hard to figure out life without them. Louis had envisioned an entire future with Harry by his side, and it had never come into question what he would do without Harry. Harry was the one constant thing in Louis’ life that he could always count on. There’s a reason that they went through all the bullshit that Management threw at them, all the hate when they came out; because their love was the type to last the ages.

“Mate, the day I believe that is the day Zayn shaves his head.” Niall laughs, throwing himself onto Zayn’s back and ruffling his hair. Zayn swats him off, laughing. Niall doesn’t relent though, and eventually it comes to Liam wrestling him off his boyfriend and pinning his arms to his sides.

“Prick,” Niall chuckles, “Lemme go, I wanna eat!”

“Then go set the table, you menace,” Zayn smacks his arse with a spoon as he goes for the plates.

“Oi! Liam, your boyfriend’s bullying me!”

Louis snorts, shaking his head and taking a sip of his wine as another “argument” breaks out amongst the three of them.

He’s missed this.

\---

It’s three days later and Louis is far too drunk.

It’d started out all right. He’d just gone into the closet to find an old sweater, the temperature finally starting to combat the extensive heating system, and in his efforts to tug it down from the top shelf, he’d knocked down a shoebox.

The contents scattered all over the floor, some sliding under the bed in the flurry. Louis cursed, kneeling to collect them. The first thing he picked up was an old Polaroid, and what he saw made his breath hitch.

It was an old photo of him and Harry. Sometime in 2011, according to the date scribbled on the bottom.

“Me and Lou! X-Factor,” it read, obviously Harry’s looped writing. 18-year-old Louis had his arm wrapped around 16-year-old Harry’s waist, who’s dimples where cratering his face. His wild curls, which would eventually grow into an extravagant lion’s mane, were tangled with Louis’ atrocious bowl cut. Their hands were met in the middle, both making a thumbs up.

Louis stuffs the picture back into the box, breathing heavily. He throws a few more in, trying not to look at them, but it’s inevitable.

Photos from the beginning, when they’d been fumbling boyfriends trying to handle the newfound success thrown their way, learning how to hide, learning each other – photos from the middle, where they’d gotten into the swing of things, hiding was easy, and so was love – photos towards the end, when love was free and rings found their way onto fingers.

Louis chokes back a sob as he places the pictures back with shaking hands. It’s not just photos, though. There are scraps of paper with both his and Harry’s writing on it, pieces of lyrics, random notes, and love letters from when they were apart.

There’s Harry’s journal, too. ‘One and Only’ on the spine and Harry’s words inside. It’s face down, open to a page somewhere towards the middle. Louis flips it over, holding it in his hands and rubbing his fingers over the softened leather. The entry is dated sometime mid September of last year, and Louis begins to read.

Mum dropped off some of my old stuff today. Said she thought I’d need it once Lou and I started thinking of having kids of our own. I’ve only barely gotten engaged and she’s already planning on grandkids. I swear she wants me to get married faster than I do. (Louis says that’s not possible, says I’ve wanted to be married since X-Factor) (He’s not wrong).

Anyway, I found an old Mythology book. Just started flipping through it casually. Memories, y’know? And I came to the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. The one where Eurydice dies and Orpheus, in his grief, goes to the Underworld to try and save her. He has to play his lyre all the way back, and if he looks back once, he loses her forever.

I really loved that story. I mean, he loses her in the end because he’s too overcome by it. But I still think it’s great. That kind of undying love that carries through death and into the next life. It kind of reminds me of Lou and me since he’s always said that he’d go through heaven and hell to get to me if anything ever happened. (He always denies it, but I know).

I talked to mum about it, and she said apparently there’s this thing in Naples that is like, a way into the Underworld. The Cave of the Sibyl.

There are loads of them all over the world, obviously. One in Ireland, too (St. Patrick’s Purgatory, I think). The point is, if someone ever wanted to ask for another chance from Hades, they’d have to go to one of these places and ask. Sometimes, if it’s important enough, their wish will be granted.

I just thought that’d be cool. A second chance at love, life, happiness, whatever you want. I’d want that, I think. Accepting what comes is a good philosophy, sure. But some things are worth fighting for.  
Harry .x

That was two hours ago. Since then, Louis has been steadily drinking his way through an extensive liquor closet, reading and crying and missing Harry terribly.

I’m sorry, H. You deserved so much more. I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry.

It’s as close as he gets to prayer.

\---

The next day finds Louis hunched over his computer, head aching with a terrible hangover. He’s searching up the Cave of the Sibyl, one of the places Harry had written about.

It’s a long shot, obviously. Louis may have just finally snapped, but it doesn’t matter. If he’s got a snowball’s chance in Hell (haha) of getting Harry back, then he’s taking that chance, no matter what.

The Cave of the Sibyl resides in Naples, Italy. Turns out, winter is the ideal time to go, as it’s past tourist season, and one-on-one time with the Cave gives anyone seeking redemption prime time.

The key is to go as deep into the twisting labyrinth of stone as your courage will allow, and then respectfully ask for Hades to grant your wish.

There’re no stories of any outstanding event –miraculous or otherwise– happening in the Cave, but Louis thinks that it’s still his best shot.

He books his plane ticket and passes out on the couch.

\---

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be landing shortly in Naples. The temperature is a balmy...” the pilot continues, but Louis isn’t listening. There’s a thrumming in his veins that picked up right as they crossed into Italian airspace. He blames it on nerves, but something deep within him leads him to believe it’s otherworldly.

He’s going to the Underworld; he supposes it’s justified.

Louis is the first one off the plane, thanks to first-class seating and only having a single carry on with him. He spares no thought to the people he passes as he practically runs through the terminal, out the doors, and to the taxis idling at the curb.

“Ciao!” the jovial taxi driver cries, smiling at Louis through the rearview mirror. “Dove il mio amico?”

“Parlo solo un po ‘di italiano, signore,” Louis stutters, “Antro della Sibilla?”

“Ah, sì!” he laughs, “Turista?” He asks, pulling away. Tourist? Obviously, but he’d rather just get to the Cave. He just wants this over with. He just wants Harry.

“Sì, signore,” Louis replies, “Molto veloce, per favore?” Quickly, quickly, he thinks.

“Sì, sì,” the driver chirps, pressing his foot more firmly on the gas. “State facendo un desiderio?” Are you making a wish? More like a desperate plea.

“Sì, per il mio amore,” Louis says, voice shaking slightly. For my love. The driver nods knowingly, as if he too has loved and lost and hoped to find his love again.

“Buona fortuna,” he says, finally solemn. Good luck.

“Grazie,” Louis murmurs, “Grazie.”

\---

The Cave is much colder, and much darker, than expected.

Even with the artificial lights mounted every few feet, there’s still an eerie feeling about the place. It’s clearly ancient in it’s look and feel, and the sound of Louis’ soft footsteps reverberates through the cave, echoing endlessly. Louis can feel the energy thrumming under the surface of the rock walls, and can’t help but feel like the Cave is alive.

Louis tugs his denim coat more snugly around himself, trailing deeper. He’s kept a hand on the wall the whole time, for comfort or stability, he doesn’t know.

He’s almost stopped a few times, courage failing him. It’s only by thinking of Harry that he’s been able to continue. 

He thinks about the way Harry looks in the morning, barely awake and illuminated by the soft glow of the morning sunlight.

The way Harry’s hand feels in his, rough and slightly calloused, but so, so warm.

The way it feels to be wrapped up in Harry, with arms around waists and heads nestled into the crooks of shoulders.

How it feels to fuck Harry and be fucked by Harry. Whether it be all rapid movements and desperate hands or slow, soft, and sweet, smudging words of adoration into the other’s skin.

His mind drifts to Harry’s journal, how Orpheus played and sang his way into the Underworld, and how he almost sang his lover to freedom. Almost unconsciously, Louis himself begins to sing. Softly at first, but slowly growing in volume.

“I’m sorry if I say “I need you,”” Louis isn’t sorry, not at all, “But I don’t care, I’m not scared of love,” Louis is scared of many things: losing Harry, getting older, being left completely alone, his loved ones being injured or dying, but he’s never been scared of loving Harry.

“’Cause when I’m not with you I’m weaker,” he belts. And isn’t that the truth? Louis’ been a right mess without Harry by his side, no matter how much he tries to convince anyone otherwise.

“Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong, that you make me strong?” Strong enough to drag his arse out to Napels grasping at straws to get Harry back. He’s going to Hell and back to get his boy, and not a damn thing can stop him.

He walks ages, it seems, singing all the way. His voice his completely shot by the time he reaches a dead end. The ranger back at the lodge he’d stopped at told him there was no discovered end to the tunnels, yet here he was.

Louis clears his throat, speaking directly to the wall.

“Er... Hades?” he tries. No response. Right.

“My name is Louis Tomlinson. I’m from Doncaster, and I’ve travelled a bit of a ways to come here. My fiancé, Harry Styles, was recently killed in a car accident.” Louis swallows hard. “I’ve come to ask for him back. I know some people die for a reason, and that sometimes bad things happen to good people.”

“But Harry was one of the kindest, bravest, sweetest, loveliest people I’ve ever met. Harry is the man that I want to spend the rest of my life with. Get married, have fifty babies, and thirty cats together. He helped me realize some things about myself, like that I can’t cook for shit, that I will not always be able to reach the top shelf, how to have really great sex, that it’s okay to be wrong, that I need to let some things go, and that I can love someone so fiercely that it would lead me here, to plead with a wall for his life.” Louis isn’t sure when he started crying, but it hardly matters now.

“So please, please let me have him back. I’d do anything to have him until we both die old, saggy, wrinkly bastards that are still disgustingly in love as we are now.” Louis finishes, resting his head on the wall in front of him.

He stays that way for God knows how long, letting tears fall onto the dirt at his feet.

Louis is startled by a noise behind him. He assumes it’s just another tourist that managed to catch up with him, or a ranger.

“Sorry,” he says, trying to sound even remotely okay, “I didn’t mean to be here for so long.” Louis lifts his head, raking a hand through his hair.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Lou,” a decidedly deep, British voice says from behind him. A very familiar deep, British voice.

Louis whips around to see Harry Styles standing in front of him, just the same as he was the day he died, down to the Burberry coat and stupid sparkly boots.

“Harry...”Louis breathes, not daring to believe his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them, Harry is still there.

Without another word, Louis crosses the short distance between them, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck and yanking him down for a bruising kiss.

Harry’s mouth tastes the same as Louis remembers. Like vanilla and a little bit of peppermint and something wholly unique to Harry. Soft and plush lips part under his enthusiastically, and Louis uses this as an invitation to melt further into Harry. Louis’ hands are roaming up and down his lean torso, over his hips, his bum, before running up his back, bunching the jacket.

They break apart, and Harry smiles at Louis, eyes twinkling.

“Hi,” he says, cupping Louis’ face with one hand. “Missed you, Lou.”

“Me too, H,” Louis can barely see, as new tears are threatening to spill over, “God, you have no idea.”

“Well, I mean you talked to a wall in Naples for me,” Harry teases, “Must be a whole lot.”

Louis groans, pulling away a millimeter, “I take it back, I didn’t miss you at all.”

“Sure about that?” Harry asks, kissing him again.

“Absolutely,” Louis retorts, tugging on a curl by Harry’s ear. “Did miss your cooking though.”

Harry laughs, and Louis feels his heart swell. After thinking he’d never hear Harry laugh again, it’s a little much.

“That’s why you came all this way, then,” Harry chuckles, “for my cooking?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Louis replies, mock-serious, “Not because I love you with all my heart and soul or anything.”

Harry’s heart eyes could probably be seen from space at this point, so Louis kisses him hard enough that his own lips are tingling when they part. He twines their fingers together, the metal of their engagement bands clinking together.

“I could hear you, y’know.” Harry says against Louis’ lips, “When you were asking me to come back.”

“All of it?”

“Yeah,” he says, “Like how you want a million babies and cats with me, and how you’ll love me until we’re old and saggy.”

“Not sure I fancy the saggy bit, if I’m honest,” Louis jokes.

“Nobody fancies saggy bits, Lou,” Harry bites down on a smile.

“You’re awful. Absolutely terrible,” Louis bumps his forehead against Harry’s, “Why did I agree to marry you again?”

“Because it rhymes?” Harry teases, kissing him again. A cool breeze blows through, reminding Louis that they’re still in a cave in Naples, Italy, and that he’ll have to find a way to explain all of this to the boys, to his and Harry’s family, to the media.

Harry must see something on his face, as he wraps Louis in a hug, “Hey, it’s okay, love. It’ll all work out.” Louis sniffles into his coat, wrapping himself in Harry’s scent.

“We’re the dream team, right? It’ll be okay. I’m here,” Harry murmurs into Louis’ hair.

And Louis thinks, yeah, it will be okay.

Harry’s here.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this was good enough to fill the prompt omg  
> i'm sorry harry didn't come back til the end i promise i love him  
> also any italian errors are from me and google translate sorry


End file.
